


Crossing the Line

by roane



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Biggs Darklighter Lives, Crack, Friendship, M/M, Multi, Prompt Fill, Rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 22:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10228424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roane/pseuds/roane
Summary: There's an old--really old--ritual that all pilots must face when they cross the boundary into the Galactic Core for the first time. And now it's Luke's turn.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [culturevulture73](https://archiveofourown.org/users/culturevulture73/gifts), [StarfighterCommand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarfighterCommand/gifts), [wintergrey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintergrey/gifts).



> Prompted by culturevulture73, who gave me a list of prompts, one of which included the line "Why does anybody have to be naked?" 
> 
> StarfighterCommand is responsible for all of my Wedge and Tycho headcanons.
> 
> And wintergrey encouraged me when I started thinking about modifying the old line-crossing ceremony used by several navies for use in the Star Wars universe.

“Why does anybody have to be naked?” Luke asks.

A raucous burst of laughter sounds in the rec room, where the most senior pilots of Rogue Squadron are sitting around drinking and generally being bored. Sure, the question is abrupt, but it’s not _entirely_ out of the blue.

“Do you mean ‘in general’, or did you have something specific in mind? Because if you don’t know of any good reasons, we need to have a long talk with Captain Darklighter there.” Wedge is sprawled taking up about three seats, eyes already closed, but he’s been off-duty and probably drinking longer than the rest of them. 

“Shut up.” Luke feels his face going hot. “I know of plenty of good reasons to be naked in general, and some of them even involve Biggs.”

“Ooh, only some of them? Have you been holding out on us?” Tycho is on the floor, head leaning back against Wedge’s leg, putting him in prime annoyance proximity. He’s already blocked Wedge from the bottle that’s going around the room several times. Luke is just waiting for the inevitable blow up when Wedge realizes what he’s doing. “Don’t tell me that the infamously reserved Commander Skywalker is finally considering doing the rounds through the troops.”

Biggs, who has been quiet until now, growls and pulls Luke into his lap. “Not a chance. Hands off, Celchu, I can already see you scheming.”

“Okay, let me rephrase,” Luke says, settling back against Biggs. “Why do _I_ have to be naked?”

“Tradition, kid,” Wedge says without opening his eyes. “We all had to go through it, now it’s your turn.”

“But I’ve already been to the Core. That’s where the Death Star was when we rescued the princess,” Luke protests.

“Doesn’t count. You weren’t a pilot then.”

“This is a silly tradition,” Luke grumbles, and takes a larger drink than normal when the bottle comes back around to him again.

Wedge sits up and scowls at Luke, dislodging Tycho, who also scowls—at being dislodged. “Excuse me, are you knocking years of Corellian Navy tradition, Commander? Any pilot, on crossing into or out of the Core for the first time has to pay proper respect to the galaxy and signify his or her rebirth as a traveler of the stars. Those are the rules. And I know you don’t want to break the rules.”

Luke tries another tack. “This isn’t the Corellian Navy.” 

“No, but there were enough of us in the ranks when we started this whole shebang that we brought our traditions with us.” This time Wedge manages to snag the bottle from Tycho’s hand before he skips over Wedge, and gives him a dirty look.

“And you’re telling me that everybody’s done this?” Luke looks at the others dubiously, and they all nod, even Wes, who’s usually more dour than the rest. “Then how come nobody else has to do it this time?”

“You’re the newest pilot we’ve got,” Tycho says, “at least, who hasn’t been to the Core yet.”

Luke sighs, sensing a lost cause when he sees it. “Okay, okay, _fine_. I have no problem paying proper respect to the galaxy, but why do I have to be naked to do it?”

“Rebirth,” Wedge repeats, nodding sagely. 

“Also it’s our only chance to see what Darklighter is keeping hidden from the rest of us,” Tycho pipes up, earning a swat to the back of his head from Wedge. “Ow.”

“ _Rebirth_ ,” Wedge says for a third time, now scowling at Tycho again. Luke estimates it’ll be about fifteen minutes before they’re yelling at each other, and fifteen minutes after that before—speaking of naked—they’re in whoever’s quarters are closest. “You weren’t born with clothes on, right? It’s a symbol.”

“I’m not getting out of this, am I.”

“Well, I mean, you don’t _have_ to, but most people feel like it’s a big deal when it’s their turn.”

“I did,” Tycho says, nodding. “I couldn’t sleep the night before. Too excited.”

“Too busy kriffing one of the new ensigns, you mean.” Wedge rolls his eyes, and Luke lowers his estimate to ten minutes before meltdown.

“Well, I didn’t sleep, and I _was_ excited,” Tycho counters.

“We’ll keep it short and sweet, since it’s just you this time,” Wedge says. “We’re due to cross into the Core tomorrow night. You’ll come out into the main hangar and then disrobe, then pay homage to the Celestials—represented by one of us, of course—”

“Probably me, since I’m the most godlike—”

“Tycho, they weren’t gods.” 

_Five minutes_ , Luke thinks.

“Anyway,” Wedge continues, “we’ll grease you up and you’ll slide through the tunnel we’ll have ready, and when you come out the other end, you’ll be reborn as a real interstellar pilot.”

“Whole thing should just take a couple of minutes,” Tycho reassures Luke. “Not much longer than it takes Wedge to fall asleep after sex.”

“That was _one time_ ,” Wedge growls. 

“That’s every time, with me at least.” Tycho folds his arms and looks smug.

“You keep insisting on telling people that and there’s not gonna be a next time.” Wedge scowls at Tycho and Luke’s mental countdown hits zero as Wedge stands in preparation for storming out. To Luke he says, “You, main hangar, 2100 hours tomorrow.” To everyone else: “I’m gonna go get some sleep.” 

Everyone except Tycho exchanges glances and waits. They don’t have to wait long. Tycho stands up from the floor. “Hell with it, he’s right. It’s late.”

Once he’s gone, the remaining pilots burst into laughter. “They’re not even _subtle_ about it anymore,” Biggs laughs. 

Wes shakes his head. “Are you still running the pool?”

“I am, and it’s not too late to get your money in. Current money says sometime in the next month they’ll figure out that neither of them is actually playing the field anymore.” It’s a longstanding bet—speculating about each other’s love lives is another way to stave off boredom. 

“That’s a sucker’s bet. No way.” Wes grins. “Still. They’ll figure it out eventually at this rate.”

“It _is_ getting late,” Biggs says and stands up, dragging Luke with him. “And you’ve got a big day tomorrow.” Biggs isn’t very subtle either, but Luke doesn’t mind.

#

It’s nearly 2100 hours the next night, and Luke is standing near the main hangar wearing just a robe and starting to have second thoughts. 

As if he reads Luke’s thoughts, Biggs says, “You really don’t _have_ to do this, if you don’t want to.”

“I do though,” Luke says stubbornly. “I want to be just like everyone else.” Before Biggs can say anything else, Luke strips out of his robe and hands it to him, stepping out into the main hangar to loud catcalling and cheering. 

There are… a _lot_ of people there. Definitely all of the flight crews. More than Luke was expecting. Also, it’s really _really_ cold in the hangar. Acutely aware of everyone’s eyes on him, Luke walks across the hangar bay to Rogue Squadron’s customary berths, where there’s a large tube of durasteel laid out not far from his X-wing. (Is that… it looks like a spare proton torpedo tube?) Wedge and Tycho stand at one end of it, and sure enough, Tycho is dressed up in some ridiculous silvery, shimmery thing, standing especially tall. 

Luke approaches him a little uncertainly, with Biggs following behind him. Oh _hell_ , he’s pretty sure he just spotted Han and Leia in the crowd of spectators, who are still being loud and rowdy.

“Approach, O novice starfarer, approach and request entrance to the society of seasoned voyagers, those who have traveled and piloted the far reaches of the galaxy. To become one of us, you must be reborn!” Tycho’s voice is bombastic and overdone, and booms through the hangar.

Is there a script? Nobody told Luke his lines if there was a script. He decides to just walk forward. It’s bad enough that he’s got to be naked for this, nobody told him he had to be naked _and_ speak in front of a crowd. 

Tycho stands looking imperious as he gets closer. “Kneel, traveler, and receive the blessed ointment of the Celestials.”

Okay, so apparently no lines. Luke kneels, feeling like an idiot, acutely aware of all the eyes on him, and the snickering that’s going through the crowd. This is like something out of a nightmare. He’s naked, cold, and the center of attention. It couldn’t possibly get worse.

He’s wrong. 

Tycho steps forward with what looks suspiciously like a jar of engine grease, but before he can get too close, Biggs steps in and takes it from him, glaring at him. 

Luke figures out why when Biggs starts—as Wedge had said, he wasn’t kidding—greasing him up. Clearly he wasn’t about to let Tycho get his hands on Luke like this. Not that having _Biggs_ putting engine grease on him is any better, because now he’s naked, cold, the center of attention, _and_ trying not to think about the fact that his boyfriend has slippery hands all over him. 

Mercifully, it ends, and Tycho booms, “Rise, traveler, and be reborn!” He gestures to the torpedo tube, and Luke realizes he’s going to have to crawl through it. It suddenly looks really really _long_.

All right, he may as well get this over with. Luke crouches down and starts crawling through the tube, which isn’t nearly as wide as it looked to begin with. He understands the need for the engine grease now.

 _Has anybody ever gotten stuck in this before?_ As soon as he thinks it, he can feel panic trying to set in, and he crawls faster. The durasteel is absolutely freezing. Finally, after what feels like a year, he makes it out the other side of the tunnel.

Biggs is there waiting for him, along with the rest of Rogue Squadron, laughing and cheering him. As Biggs wraps him back up in his robe, Luke feels a warm rush of acceptance and belonging, and smiles up at Biggs, who leans in and kisses him on the one clean spot on his cheek. 

“I’m sorry,” Biggs murmurs, but before Luke can question him on it, Leia and Han weave through the dissipating crowd, Leia looking like she’s been crying with laughter, and Han scowling.

“What the _hell_ was that?” Han demands. 

“It was the ceremony, you know, for crossing into the Core,” Luke says.

“ _What_ ceremony?”

And that’s when Luke’s belly starts to sink. “The… ceremony, you know… from Corellia? Honoring the galaxy? The Navy does it?”

“Kid, who fed you that line of bantha poodoo? The only thing the Corellian Navy honors is itself.”

“Are you sure?”

Han just shakes his head. “I can’t leave you alone for a minute without somebody coming along to con you.”

Luke turns to Biggs, betrayed, and Wedge picks that moment to saunter over, an enormous grin on his face. “Great job, Luke. That was _perfect_.” Then he starts laughing. 

“You knew!” Luke accuses Biggs, who at least has the decency to look ashamed of himself.

“Well, come on, Luke, I didn’t think you’d _actually_ go through with it, and by the time I realized you were going to, it was too late!”

To Wedge he says, “You told me that everybody went through this.”

“Everybody does go through this.” Wedge is still grinning unapologetically. “Congratulations, Commander Skywalker, you are officially a Rogue. You survived your initiation.”

“ _Initiation?_ ” Luke steps closer to Wedge and feels Biggs take his arm, just in case Luke’s got mayhem on his mind. And Luke might. “I kinda figured surviving the Death Star might’ve counted as initiation enough!”

“Aw, come on, if we don’t give you shit that means we don’t like you.” Wedge tries to give him a wide-eyed innocent look, and ‘innocent’ doesn’t sit well on him.

“Well you must _love_ me, you got me naked in front of the entire Alliance!”

“Sure we do, Luke,” Wedge reaches up to ruffle Luke’s hair, but then eyes the engine grease and the look on Luke’s face and decides the better of it. “And now the Alliance _really_ loves you.”

Luke rolls his eyes. “All right, all right.”

“Come on, I heard Hobbie has a full bottle of Corellian rum he swindled off somebody. No hard feelings, right?” Wedge extends his hand.

Luke takes it, but wrinkles his nose. “I dunno how I feel about anything Corellian right about now, but let me wash off this mess and I’ll come find you.” He starts to walk away, weaving through the remaining people lingering, most of them giving him wide grins and a wider berth. 

Biggs catches up to him. “Luke, I mean it, I really didn’t think you’d do it.”

“What’d they do to you?” Luke demands.

“Huh?”

“Your initiation. What’d they do to you?”

“Oh, it was nothing that dramatic. It was before Wedge and Tycho had a hand in running things like that. I think somebody short-sheeted my bunk for a couple nights running.” Biggs shrugs, still looking apologetic. “I’ll help you wash your back?”

“I dunno, I’m not sure how I feel about anything Tatooinian right now, either,” Luke says, but he’s teasing.

“Tell you what: I’ll wash your back _and_ I’ll help you plot your revenge.” Biggs grins at him, and there’s trouble lurking around the edges of it, the kind of trouble that Luke has never been able to resist.

“On both of them.”

Biggs nods. “On both of them.”

“You’re on.” Luke grins back at him. “I think I might know where we can get an awful lot of sand…”


End file.
